The Nightwatchman's Report

I was dreaming presumably and there was a noise. Anyway, I was suddenly awake. The noise was outside. There were sounds and I didn't know what they were. The artist was sitting up in bed too by now. The room was dark, with only a hint of light breathing through the blinds. Whatever it was, we could still hear it. Things were being knocked over, slowly, as if one by one - plastic toys, skittles, a Frisbee, an easel. It could be anything or anyone, I remember thinking. Vigilantly I crept out of bed, one movement at a time, feet placed firmly and quietly on the ground, and made for the children's room. I paused by their thick curtains and made sure to keep very calm. There. Another noise. There was definitely something out there. (I am still careful not to make my presence known at this stage, at least not until I can reach for the light switch which will illuminate the patio like a football stadium.) Click. The light comes on - the same light I used to illuminate my daughter and her friend singing the day before - and the noise is suddenly louder. Then I switch it off again, deliberately creating confusion. Whatever it was, I hear it quickly disappear into the distance. I check the time, keeping as still as possible, though I am conscious of my breathing. It is three o'clock in the morning. Absurdly I think of a Leonard Cohen song. No, that was four in the morning. ("The music on Clinton Street all through the evening.") I switch the light on again and leave it a while. I am now officially unpredictable. Nothing. I hear nothing. I have decided, after much consideration, it was a fox. Fortunately, you see, nothing about the noise indicated something human but half an hour later I am still awake. The artist has fallen asleep. She is curled up beside me like a child. I can hear the children sleeping, too. I lie on my back and lull my toes to sleep and the next time I am conscious it is four or so hours later and all I am thinking about, strangely enough, is how refreshed I feel. No one mentions anything. I wonder if the artist remembers.